Twist and Shout
by Beknown
Summary: Harry Potter vanishes on Halloween 1981, and he reappears in the past.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

The Dark Lord raised his wand on the baby boy. The One With The Power To Vanquish just sat there gurgling, not even acknowledging his impending death or the murder of his mother before his own two eyes.

Without even a speech on how there is no good or evil (only power!), Voldemort cast the Killing Curse. It rebounded off the boy and shot back towards the Dark Lord, who didn't even have time to register the amazing feat of magic before he was blown to bits, as was the wall behind him. The house groaned, half the roof collapsed, and in the midst of the destruction, the Boy-Who-Lived vanished.

**Chapter 1: Orphaned! Again, but for the First Time!**

St. Brutus Orphanage was a quiet place, except during the day and often during the night. This was an odd night, then, for several reasons, one of which was the new baby. If you were to believe Paul- six years old, one of the orphans- the baby just appeared out of nowhere, but Mrs. Tate thought it much more likely that a distressed mother abandoned the poor boy in a moment of panic and Paul just couldn't see her. Maybe Paul needed glasses? That wouldn't do, the orphanage couldn't really afford much, and if Paul got a pair then everyone would want a pair even though they don't need a pair. And glasses break so easy, so they would have to constantly get replaced and so no, it wouldn't do at all.

The blanket the baby was found in struck Mrs. Tate as odd. ("When was it ever fashionable to have brooms and flying tennis balls sewn onto things? Kids these days!") It was only slight less odd than the bleeding scar in the shape of a lightening blot on Harry's (at least that was the name stitched on the baby's onesie) forehead.

The bleeding did eventually stop, though Mrs. Tate doubted it was because of anything she had done; it was a very good thing it had stopped , as she was running out of clean cloth. The boy did need a last name; but what name to give an abandoned orphan? You would think she would know, but Mrs. Tate didn't like knowing things, and she was awfully forgetful, like that one time she tried making caramel for the kids as a summer time snack, but she let the water over boil because she had to go shoo away a cat- horrible pests!- and then completely forgot about the caramel in the first place, and by the time she came back to make her tea, the room was half filled with smoke and the pot was ruined. It was a shame; good pots are hard to come by. Pot! Harry Pot! That's the boy's name!

No, that's a ridiculous name. Clock? Harry Clock? No, that's even worse. How about table? Harry Table. Harry Table. Harry Table. Mrs. Tate stopped trying to give him the name of household items and moved on to bigger and better things. Harry Mountain? Harry Sky? Harry Space?! If only she knew more about the boy. Where did Paul find him? She closed her eyes and imagined the tragic beginning of Harry's life. There was a woman- a beautiful woman, she corrected herself- face obscured by a hood. She was running through the forest, baby Harry held close to her chest. It was all very dramatic. In the background, one could hear the loud bark of dogs and men shouting. She comes to a stop a creek. It's a dead end! "It's safer this way," the mother coos. "You will never know us, but this way is best." A lock of brilliant red -no,blonde- hair drops elegantly as she bends to kiss Harry on the forehead. She takes the basket- okay, minor correction, she was actually running though the forest with baby Harry in a basket- and she places it into the creek. With a soft push, the basket floats away down stream. Tears falling down her face, the mother hugs herself tightly as the barks and shouts of dogs and men draw closer.

Harry shifted in her arms and snapped her out of her thoughts. She walked over to a crib and carefully placed him down. Mrs. Tate covered Harry in a blanket as she mentally corrected a tiny error in the little story. The creek's current wouldn't be strong enough to carry a baby. Easily fixable, though. Instead of a creak, it's a river. There, done. Just a matter of water. And as Mrs. Tate walked away, content at finally finding a last name, Harry Waters was born.

**Chapter 2: Just a Tad Odd**

Harry Waters was just a tad odd. Anyone could tell you that. Simon- age nine, orphan- would tell you that Harry smiles too much. Rosa-age eight, orphan- would tell you that Harry eats bugs. Simon would then say that only girls don't eat bugs, and Rosa would then punch Simon, and Simon would pull Rosa's pigtails and Harry would sit in the corner, smiling and eating bugs.

So when a tall, stern-looking woman in a dark robe walked into St. Brutus Orphanage asking for Harry Waters, Mrs. Tate was uncharacteristically wary. The lady- McGonagall, as she introduced herself- insisted that Harry did nothing wrong and was being offered a placement in a select boarding school in Scotland.

"But why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why Harry? I'm not saying that he won't do well at your school-"

"Hogwarts."

"Pardon?"

"The school's name is Hogwarts"

"Oh. So I'm sure he'll do fine- Hogwarts? That's a funny name for a school"

McGonagall bristled as if personally offended, though Mrs. Tate saw no reason for it. People got offended for the craziest things, she thought. Why, just the other day, as-

"It's been called Hogwarts for over a thousand years and we've had some of the finest pupils the world has ever seen!"

"Name one."

"Albus Dumbledore!"

"Who?"

"Nevermind this, back to Mr. Waters. Where is he?"

"Nevermind that, how do even know about Harry?"

"Mr. Waters is a very special boy, and he popped up on our list, so to speak."

"But how?"

"The screening process is a complex one," McGonagall said, starting to lose her cool. "It's one that I am not intimately familiar with, now if you'll be so kind as to let me speak to Mr. Waters."

So Mrs. Tate walked McGonagall to Harry's room, muttered something about cooking potatoes, and walked off.

Harry was lounging on his bed, reading some worn Muggle book, when Professor McGonagall walked in. She gave him a good hard look, nodded, and then spoke.

"Hello Harry, my name is Professor McGonagall."

"Hi, I'm Harry."

Things got off to a rocky start, but the witch kept going.

"I am here to inform you that you have accepted to Hogwarts, a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Thank you."

"Do you have any questions for me?"

"Like what?"

She would persevere.

"Many like to know when school starts?"

"When does school start?"

"The first of September."

"This year?"

This will not be my Waterloo.

"Yes, this year. The school itself is in Scotland, but there is a train that takes students there."

"I see."

"You do?"

"No. Why take a train? If magic is real shouldn't there be a quicker way? Or is it a tradition? How can I know for real that magic even exists? Do I need to pay? Because if I do, this sounds an awful lot like a scam. If there is magic, how can you possibly know I can do it? How many students are there? How come I've never seen magic? Why does everyone say magic isn't real if it's real? Why are you dressed funny? What's the exact difference between Witchcraft and Wizardry? Is the school really called Hogwarts, or is that a joke?"

McGonagall took a small step back.

"The Hogwarts Express is part tradition, yes, but it also gives a chance for the first years to get to know each other. Yes there are quicker ways, but they are not nearly as pleasant or organized."

She then whipped out her wand, waved it, turned the wardrobe into a pig, and continued.

"There is a fund for orphans who cannot pay, don't worry, all will be provided, though many things will have to be second-hand. There will be about sixty in your year, seven years overall..."

She went on, but Harry was too busy watching the pig to pay any attention. He hoped all of his clothes were okay. Midway through her lecture on the history of Hogwarts, Harry pointed to her wand and asked, "Where can I get one of those?"

**Chapter Three: Swishy! **

They were waiting behind a black-haired first year in Ollivanders for a quite a while before the boy- the creepy old man called him Snape- found a suitable wand. As he went to leave the store, Snape bumped into Harry, who stumbled onto the ground. Snape just sniffed in disgust and, without a thought for the boy he ran into, exited Ollivanders. Harry picked himself up and made his way to the counter. The old man looked at him funny before asking for his wand arm.

It was dark by the time Harry got back to St. Brutus. When he turned around to thank Professor McGonagall, she was already gone. He grabbed his trunk (which had W.G.P. etched on the side) and made his way inside. He passed by Saul - age sixteen, orphan- who immediately wanted to know why Harry had left with the strange lady. Saul was the same boy who, ten years ago, had found Harry in a flash of light and fire. His changing of his name coincided with the start of his bullying of Christian- age twelve, orphan.

Harry described all the wonders of the Wizarding World: the magic barrier in the Leaky Cauldron, the mail-carrying owls, flying brooms, and the fancy ice cream shop. He was so engrossed in his story of the banana split with three flavors and chocolate syrup that he didn't notice the small of crowd that was forming around him.

Mrs. Tate smiled softly. Harry didn't see the effect he had on people. They flocked to him naturally, unknowingly. He would make a great politician one day, and she was glad that Harry didn't have a mean bone in his body, unlike some people she knew. Pastor Johns wanted to introduce her to a friend of his and went on and on about nice _he_ was, how _he_ was a pillar of the community, how _he_ gave such a generous donation just last Sunday. Then when she finally agrees to see him for afternoon tea, all he talks about is his money. Honestly, if she had half as much as him, she would make real change in the world. Like make a law against loud cats. Why, just the other day, the ugliest cat imaginable attacked her, clawing at her ankles like some mad dog. She could just imagine its thought process. "Oh, look here, a perfectly respectable lady, beloved by her friends and family alike, having a leisurely stroll on her way to the market. You know what, I should ruin her day and ruin her stockings. And, while I'm tearing her to shreds -with absolutely no sense of propriety, I might add- I'm gong to make a horrible screech reminiscent of dying pigs slowly stabbed with hot needles." The only thing worse in her book than loud cats are quiet cats. Those are the ones that trick you. You think, "Oh, what a pleasant cat. So unlike those loud and dangerous ones." And then when you leave a bowl of milk out at night, you wake up the next morning with broken china and spoiled milk all over the floor.

Mrs. Tate came back down to Earth just as Harry Banished Lindsey- age fifteen, orphan- into the wall. Everyone was silent. A couple of kids went to see if Lindsey was all right. She wasn't, but that wasn't because of Harry. Lindsey seemed to think that since Harry could do magic, Harry had to do all the chores. Some kids had laughed at that, but no one thought she was serious. At least not until she shoved Harry when he had refused. She had never really liked Harry; she remembered a time when she was the favorite. Mrs. Tate would go on and on about how Lindsey was the lost daughter of Princess Margaret, born from a passionate love affair between her and Elvis Presley.

This was Harry's first bout of accidental magic, or rather, the first time he noticed it. He wasn't really paying attention all those years ago when an angry couple came to the orphanage wanting to adopt a boy, and he had Disillusioned himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Four: The Hogwarts Express**

It was a happy Harry who made his way onto the Hogwarts Express. He was going to be a wizard! There were no words to describe how incredibly happy he was, how incredibly nervous he was, or how incredibly hungry he was. In his excitement, he had forgotten to eat this morning.

Harry dragged his beat-up trunk down the halls of the Express, looking for a seat, and entered a compartment with only one occupant: a young girl with red hair and bright green eyes. Harry immediately introduced himself.

"Hi! I'm Harry!"

"Lily. Lily Evans. Are you a first year too?"

"Yes! Isn't it great! A for-real magic school! I have a wand and everything! Did you know they actually ride brooms! Magical flying brooms! And cauldrons! And this one boy has a toad! Did you see the hats? Some people have on these tall, pointy hats!"

Lily had put out her hand to shake Harry's, but Harry was too caught up to notice.

"...and I got three scoops and there was chocolate sauce dribbled all over it and there was a banana sliced in half on either side..."

Lily could only just nod along as the odd boy in front of her went on and on about Diagon Alley. She realized that this is how she must have sounded to her parents. And where was Severus? The train was going to leave, and if he didn't make it on soon, how would he get to school? Wait! Lily saw him pass by the compartment. She quickly ran towards the door, swung it open, and went on after him.

Harry had stopped a little while ago, and then he just watched Lily lose herself in her thoughts, open her eyes wide in panic and then recognition, and race out the door. He said a quick "Goodbye!" but he doubt that Lily heard.

Now alone, he splayed himself out over the seat. Harry took out his wand and twirled it around; golden sparks shot out the end. Suddenly, the door flew open with a loud bang! Tilting his head to get a better look at who entered, Harry saw a black-haired boy with a crooked grin plastered on his face.

"Do you mind?" The boy said. "All the others are full."

"No, it's no problem."

"So, were you doing a spell?"

"No. I don't actually know any."

"Not any? Not even one?!"

Harry shook his head. The boy just grinned more, and pulled out his wand, a sleek, almost-black, piece of wood that lightly curved at the base.

"Okay, this one my cousin taught me."

With that, he twirled and flicked his wand, and shouted with glee, "Flipendo!"

The air from the top half of the compartment suddenly fell, pushing down Harry and his things with surprising force, and then shot back up, making Harry float for a second before finally falling back down with a loud thump.

The boy was unaffected.

"That was amazing," exclaimed Harry.

"Yeah, that's not the only one I know."

This time, he lunged forward and said "Relashio!"

Bright red flew out of his wand and slammed into the wall with the window, leaving a slightly browned window and scorch marks on the wall.

Harry's mouth dropped.

"How are you so good?"

"Practice. Plus it helps to know the words. Here, let me show you. Let me see your wand."

Harry took his out.

"What is it made of," the boy asked.

"Cherry and Hippogriff feather, eleven-and-a-half inches."

Harry swished the wand a bit.

"Swishy."

The other boy snickered at what he thought was an excellent impression of Ollivander.

"Okay, you have to have a firm grip on the bottom."

Harry slightly adjusted his hand, having absolutely no idea what he was doing.

"Yeah, like that. Now just focus on what you want-in this case, imagine the air literally flipping things over. Then, just twist clockwise and flick up."

Fifteen minutes later their compartment was a total wreck. The wall paper had all been burned off, and the window was so warped that the outside was completely obscured. And then the trolley lady came in to peddle her sweets.

She took a good long look at the two disheveled kids in front of her and frowned.

She opened her mouth to scold them, but the boy with the long black hair interrupted her.

"Eight chocolate frogs, three Liquorice Wands, and a Fizzing Whizzbee."

She narrowed her eyes a bit more.

Harry added, "Please."

Both boys gave their biggest, most innocent smiles.

Three chocolate frogs ("They're alive!" Harry shouted. The other boy just nodded. "We are literally eating living frogs." More nods. "And this is common." Nod. "And no one thinks this is crazy." A shrug, and "It's magic, it doesn't really have to make sense.") and a Liquorice Wand later, Harry realized he hadn't introduced himself.

Sticking out his hand, he said "Hi! I'm Harry, by the way."

"Sirius Black!"

**Chapter Five: Hogwarts, a History**

The rest of the train ride passed relatively quickly. A couple of other students floated in and out of the compartment; Remus Lupin – age 11, half-blood- was looking for a place to sit after his last compartment flooded; Carol Bennet – age 11, half-blood- was seeking refuge from the horrible teasing of a couple of third-years; Gondoline Rowle -age 11, pureblood- was looking for her cousin, but stayed after she won the last Chocolate Frog in a game of Exploding Snap ("They explode); Amos Diggory- age 16, Hufflepuff prefect, pureblood – came in to tell them that they were approaching Hogwarts and that they would need to change into their robes.

Eventually, they arrived at the station. It was raining hard, but none of them could tell since the window was useless and the sound of rain falling on the roof of the train was masked by their chatter and laughter. Their compartment door opened, and they saw a pale, hook-nosed boy walk in. He sneered as he talked.

"Do any of you know where Lily is? She's about my height, red hair, green eyes."

"Oh, Lily!" Harry said. "She was here, but that was a while ago. About right when the train started; she didn't stay for very long. I don't know why, though. I hope she wasn't sick."

As Harry rambled on, the boy's sneer slowly devolved into a scowl, and Sirius could swear that he heard him growl.

"...and I'm pretty sure she would have at least said _something_ if she was ill, so... Oh sorry! Didn't even introduce myself. Hi! I'm Harry."

"Of course you are. Lily did mention an insufferable blabbermouth by that name."

The mysterious boy then quickly left, no doubt to continue his search for Lily.

Carol was the first to recover. "Harry doesn't talk nearly as much as you, Gondoline. Much less you, Sirius."

Sirius huffed in protest.

"Who was that?" Remus said.

"You should have jinxed him, Harry." Gondoline said. "And shut up Carol."

"I don't know any jinxes," Harry said. "And I can't just shoot spells at people I don't like."

"Sure you can." Sirius said. "Now, this spell will make black tentacles sprout his ears, but if you mispronounce it, it may turn you into a rabbit, so pay attention."

Sirius went on to describe the proper enunciation and wand movements as they all exited the train. They all groaned when they saw the heavy rain. Except for Sirius.

"...then flick down. Remember, stress the _a_sound. Better to do it too much than too little. Look! That's him over there. Go!"

With that, Sirius pushed Harry towards a black-haired boy, and before Harry could say how he doubted it was the same black-haired boy as before, Sirius was gone in the crowd of students. With one or two "Excuse me!" and "Sorry, coming through", Harry found himself facing the back of a black-haired boy. Now, however, he was pretty certain that it was the same person; no one else could possibly have the same greasy hair _and_be muttering "Lily" under their breath. And just as Harry turned around, realizing how silly he was being, making such a fuss over a simple insult, he heard the boy mutter, "Parents probably didn't even want him, probably knew he was an idiot at birth."

Harry spun around, whipped out his wand, whispered, "Flagicula" and disappeared into the crowd.

Unfortunately, he disappeared the wrong way, opting to go in the opposite direction of the black-haired boy who was heading in the right direction. Harry somehow found himself in front of carriages, surrounded by much older, much taller students. It didn't take him long -well, not too long- to figure out that he wasn't supposed to be here, so he went around a carriage to double back and retrace his steps. Which is how he bumped into nothing. Or at least it looked like nothing. It certainly felt like something. Harry tentatively put his hands out to trace the invisible barrier. It was cold and scaly and wet and sharp.

"And very oddly placed," Harry thought. "Who would put a nothing-something in front of the carriages?"

He backed away, confused and wary, but started jogging back.

By the time Harry made his way over to the other first-years, most of the boats had already set sail. He saw Sirius wave wildly; the boy had obviously been trying to catch his attention for a while, and Harry dutifully made his way over.

"I saved you a seat!"

Not even the torrential rain could dampen Sirius' mood.

Sirius scooted over, making room for Harry.

Harry sat down and stuck his hand out to the other boy in the boat.

"Hi! I'm Harry!"

"James Potter!"

James waited for Harry to give a last name, but Harry was completely oblivious and gave his hand to the fourth in the boat: a small blonde girl with pigtails.

"Harry!"

"Ione Ollivander. Nice to meet you, Harry. Do you know what House you want to get into?"

"What are Houses?"

"Well," Sirius said, unusually serious."There are four of them: Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Slytherins are the ambitious ones. Hufflepuffs are the fair ones. Ravenclaws are the bookish ones. Gryffindors are the brave ones."

"It's a flawed concept," Ione said. "Who you are at eleven is not necessarily who you are at seventeen, much less who you are when you're fifty. Like right now, my goal in life could be to become filthy rich- the richest woman in the entire world. I would want for nothing, everything would be mine. A Pegasus-filled barn, entire wardrobes filled with Acromantula Silk robes, a mansion so big I would have to bribe the Wizengamot to re-zone a good portion of Norfolk, a-"

James coughed rather loudly. Harry suspected it was a fake cough.

" But as I grow up, after a hypothetical, horrible life-changing event, I become a pioneer for justice. So, what House am I Sorted into? How could the Sorting possibly know what I will become? Or maybe we don't fundamentally change."

"That doesn't seem very likely," Sirius said.

"Then Houses only matter in school," Ione said. "But what if by being Sorted into a particular House, with dozens of other like-minded kids, you aren't encouraged to change your state of mind, and you retain that original qualifier, be it bravery or ambition or whatever."

She went on for a while, debating with herself about the merits of the Sorting.

The three boys started talking amongst themselves; Ione didn't seem to be slowing down.

One thing still confused Harry, however.

"And how do you know which House you get into?"

A wicked grin covered James' face. "Trolls."

"Trolls?"

Sirius rolled his eyes, but James ignored that and continued.

"My father told me that they make you wrestle a troll. If you win, you get to be a Gryffindor"

"Why?" Harry asked. "Is Gryffindor the best house?"

James said "Definitely!" at the same time Sirius said, "Of course not."

They both glared at each other.

"All the houses are basically same," Sirius said. "Some people are just obsessed with the Houses. Like, they think since their parents where both in Slytherin, they _have_ to be in Slytherin."

James nodded vigorously.

"Same thing for Gryffindors," Sirius added with a glance towards James.

James stopped nodding.

"That's not true! Only Slytherins care about that stuff!"

So James and Sirius bickered about the Houses while Ione rattled on about the benefits of a rotating House system, and Harry just sat at the edge of the boat looking at the majestic castle that slowly drew closer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Six: The Sorting **

Everything was a blur. Harry remembered climbing stairs and waiting in front of doors a couple of times, but that was all. At some point a lady may have talked to him, but that could have easily been one of the suits of armor that lined the hallways. There was no way to be sure. He was sure, however, that he was in a Giant Hall and there was a singing hat; the boy next to him had confirmed this, though he clarified that it was the Sorting Hat.

The Sorting Hat sang a song, and Harry was sure it was a perfectly good song, but he wasn't really paying attention to the singing Hat. Of all the extraordinary things in the Giant Hall, the singing Hat was the most ordinary. A talented ventriloquist and a few hidden strings could do the same. The ever-moving, floating candles, caught his attention, though. Some slowly glided in lazy circles far above, but others zoomed around and would occasionally dip to eye-level; one in particular seemed to take great delight in bumping into the first-years.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a girl pull out her wand and tap it against her empty goblet. Nothing happened, and the girl seemed mildly disappointed. A boy sitting next to her whispered something in her ear, and the girl smiled. Harry didn't notice that the first-year next to him was called up. He did notice that the girl's spell failed yet again. The boy whispered something else, and the girl nodded. He was so focused on the pair, that he didn't notice his own name being called. He wanted to know what they were doing! He was so sure it would be amazing! How could it not? It would be magic!

Several things then happened in a very short period of time. A Professor McGonagall- age thirty-five, half-blood, Transfiguration Professor and Head of Gryffindor House- shouted "HARRY WATERS" so loud that the magically re-enforced windows shook. Harry jumped in surprise and looked at the irate lady standing next to the shabby hat and thus missed the supreme shock that was etched on the two students' faces.

Later, no one could say what actually happened. A few had seen the two students spelling the goblet, but no one had seen the candle that flew towards the pair. A few would remember how the goblet suddenly caught on fire, but no one would remember whose name McGonagall had shouted just beforehand. Everyone knew, though, that fire spread across the Ravenclaw table so fast that Dumbledore barely had time to contain it. Everyone saw animals in the fire, but only a few knew their meaning.

The professors took immediate action. They all had their wands pointed at the table, muttering spells under their breath. The fire roared for a few precious seconds, and the Ravenclaws were scared stiff. Just as suddenly as the fire came, it ended. Dumbledore instantly Vanished the charred table and Conjured a new one.

The Hall was silent for a moment, but then the chattering began. It almost covered up McGonagall's "Harry Waters", but Harry heard it, walked up,and put on the Hat.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

"I'm sorry? I don't know? Is this a riddle? Doesn't sound like a riddle."

"Not ambitious, not very clever -"

"Hey! I'm plenty clever, Hat!"

"-but bravery, ah yes! Very brave indeed. And reckless, too."

"Why are you being so mean? I don't insult you."

"Not a lot of common sense, and no exceptional desire to learn."

"Well, you're just an ugly hat. A blind man probably made you."

"A fair bit of loyalty in here, and a good sense of justice."

"Justice? Where are you getting this from?"

"Your mind."

"Well stop it."

"How else am I to Sort you?"

"I don't know, how did you Sort the other kids?"

"This exact way."

"Oh," Harry said. "I suppose it's fine, then."

"Better be..."

"Wait, wait, wait."

"What?"

"How important is my House going to be on my future."

"Oh Merlin, not another one."

"And Ione said something about being encouraged to retain the same state-of mind."

"Please stop."

"So wouldn't it be better to put us in the House whose qualities we lack?"

"No."

"Why? Oh, because then we would still be surrounded by the same type of people. I see."

"Good, now if that's all-"

"But you_ could _sprinkle a few students into the "wrong" House. That way students are surrounded by different types of people."

"I could have sworn you were done."

"Might as well get rid of the entire House system while you're at it. Just Sort us by year!"

"Then I wouldn't be Sorting at all."

"Oh, but this is a school."

"...Yes?"

"So to foster healthy competition between the students, we separate them into basically arbitrary Houses."

"Who is this we?"

"So the House system should stay."

"Good. You're done. Finally."

"This is where you Sort me."

"Shut up."

"People are probably waiting for you to Sort me."

"No one cares about your Sorting."

"That's kind of rude."

But it was also true. Everyone was talking about the fire. The Ravenclaws had gotten over their fear and were trying to figure out how it had happened; two of them were trying very hard not to be noticed. The Gryffindors were either trying to coax answers out of the Ravenclaws or trying to start their own fire. The older Slytherins were whispering amongst themselves, and the younger ones forwent all decorum and were shouting at each other. Hufflepuffs all had their wands out and were spraying water on all the silverware. The teachers followed Dumbledore's lead and sat in stunned silence.

The Hat spoke first.

"You know I know what you did, right?"

"What?"

The Hat didn't answer, and instead and shouted, "Better be...HUFFLEPUFF!"

There was no thunderous applause coming from the Hufflepuff table. In fact, Harry didn't see anyone react. He made his way towards the table and sat next to another first-year whose name he couldn't remember. After a good bit of time had passed, Dumbledore realized that the Sorting was done and tapped on his goblet.

"If I could have your attention, please."

The crowd went silent.

"I know many of you must be hungry, so I'll just say a few words. Tuck in!"

Immediately, the once empty plates filled with all sorts of foods. Harry went to grab a piece of chicken but saw Sirius waving at him from the Gryffindor table. Harry waved back enthusiastically. Sirius shouted something; Harry thought that it could have been "Still friends?" but the Hall was much too loud to be certain.

**Chapter Seven: Hufflepuff Harry **

The entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room was hidden behind some barrels ("But no one must know!" the prefect said. Repeatedly.)

Harry thought that the inside was much more impressive; it was a sprawling mess of nooks and crannies. There were intricate carpets of yellow and black on top of a hardwood floor. Groups of couches and loveseats were placed around fireplaces and tables. His favorite part of the Common Room, though, was the giant hole in the middle. The prefect noticed him staring.

"It connects to all of the dorms."

Harry looked a bit closer and saw stairs that bordered the giant hole and spiraled down.

The prefect gathered all the first years who were starting to wander about.

"First Years are on the fifth, this year."

With that, he led them down the stairs. Each floor was like the other. On the right of where the stairs landed, there was the giant hole, and on the left was a smaller version of the Common Room; there were two couches in front of a small fireplace. Small corridors in the walls appeared to lead to nowhere, but the prefect said that they went to the rooms. Straight ahead were more stairs that kept on spiraling down and down.

The prefect led them down to the fifth subterranean level and with only a, "Well, good luck" left them to fend for themselves.

The fifteen kids ("No, fourteen," Harry thought. "Wait, fifteen? Did I count myself?") just stood there and looked at each other. They all seemed to be bothered by the silence, except for Harry who was deep in thought. A few times it looked like one of them was going to speak up, but no one ever did. After a minute, Harry exclaimed "Fifteen!", and like that, the silence was broken.

"Hi, I'm Carol!"

"Hazel!"

"Cyprian Bulstrode."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Oswald."

"Calvin."

The introductions went on for a long time; everyone shook everyone's hand and then shook them again because they forgot they already had introduced themselves.

"So," Wendelin Fawley – age 11, pure-blood – said. "How exactly do we get to our rooms?"

They all turned to the face the back wall that was riddled with tunnels.

"Well," Cyprian said. "We obviously have to go in those."

A few nodded in agreement, but no one moved.

Hesitantly, Harry walked up to the tunnel closest to him and farthest from the stairs. All eyes were on him.

"It's kinda dark," he said.

"Well go deeper, see what's inside!" Cyprian said.

He took a few steps in, and seeing as the darkness didn't kill him, he took a few more. The tunnels branched at a few places, and eventually he arrived at a door. Harry knocked, but after there was no response, he opened the door and walked in.

It was a room. It had a bed, a circular table, a wooden chair and a wardrobe. The walls were completely bare; there was not even a window. Harry sat down on the bed to see how comfortable it was, and it was divine. He sighed a happy sigh and ran out to tell the others. As he closed the door to his room, the door started glowing and so did the stones on the floor of the tunnel. He followed them and they led him back to the entrance. But everyone was gone. He saw the mouths of various tunnels slightly glowing and he could hear excited, but muffled, voices. It seemed like everyone had found a room.

Harry turned around and went back to his room. At the foot of his bed was his trunk. How did it know where he was sleeping?

"Oh right," Harry said to no one in particular. "Magic."

There were candles, now, that brought much needed light to the room. The bed had coverings and quilts, and a yellow and black carpet covered the floor.

He lied down on his bed and closed his eyes.

"Just going to rest my eyes for a bit," he thought.

And then Harry woke up in the dark.

It was pitch black and he couldn't see a thing.

"Umm," Harry said. "Lights, please!"

Nothing happened.

"Oh, of course!"

Harry fumbled around for his wand and when he found it, he jabbed it in the air and said "Lights!"

And nothing happened.

Groaning and cursing under his breath, Harry got out of bed and made his way to the door. Or at least to where he thought the door was. He spent a while pawing at the walls until he found the door knob. As soon as he opened the door, the candles were lit.

Frustrated, he made his way out the tunnels and up the stairs. The Hufflepuff Common Room was almost empty. A tall boy with dark hair saw him.

"Hey aren't you supposed to be in class?"

Harry recognized him as the prefect that had led them down.

"Maybe? I don't know?"

"Didn't you get your schedule at breakfast?"

"Breakfast?"

The prefect looked mildly exasperated.

"Did you just wake up?"

"Yes."

The tall boy rummaged through his bag for a bit and pulled something out.

"Here, take this." He said, handing Harry a rumpled parchment.

"Thanks!" Harry said, and ran off to his class.

"Do you even know where you're going?"

Harry stopped right as he was opening the door to the Common Room. He turned around to face the prefect.

"No."

"Read the parchment." The prefect sighed. "What's the first thing it says?"

"...Hogwarts."

"Further down"

"... School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

"Give me that!"

The prefect walked to Harry and grabbed the schedule out of his hands.

"You have Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Earnest. In Classroom 3C."

Harry had no idea where that was, and the prefect sensed that.

"It's on the third floor. Just look for other first years."

"Thanks!" Harry took back the parchment and opened the door.

The prefect wanted to scream, but composed himself and politely said, "You're going to need to your books and quills ."

Harry ran through the halls of Hogwarts, and finally made it to class. He slowly opened the door and tried sneaking in, but everyone was staring at him.

Professor Earnest smiled at the late Hufflepuff.

"Just take a seat anywhere, my boy."

Sitting at the closest desk, Harry looked around to see what everyone else was doing, but everyone was just waiting with a quill in hand. He sneaked a hand into his bag and fished around for a quill. The Professor twirled his wand, and a loud rustling of papers erupted in the class and parchment was flying towards the students.

"You may begin." Professor Earnest said. "No talking."

Harry turned over his parchment and immediately frowned. Was he supposed to know the answers to these questions? What in the world was a Face-Eating Iguana, and why did he have to know how to charm one? What is the most dangerous beast in the Forbidden Forest? Harry wondered how they could forbid an entire forest.

Harry looked around him, and to his surprise, everyone was scribbling down answers.

"Oh well," Harry thought. "I'll just have to do my best."

And so he wrote down what little he did know. How best to charm an iguana? With crickets and other critters, of course. Most dangerous beast? Man, of course, is the most dangerous predator. (Harry mentally patted himself on the back for that one. "There's always a trick question on tests.") How to survive an encounter with a Gorgon? Ample usage of reflective surfaces! Why does leaf of dittany not cure all ails? Because nothing can!

By the time Professor Earnest asked for the test back, Harry had answered the majority of the questions, but not all. He saw that he wasn't the only one not to finish- a brown haired boy with a face full of freckles and a blonde girl whose hair was a mess of curls both had left a good portion empty.

They were shooed out of class, and in the hallway he saw a familiar face.

"How do you do?" Harry said.

"Did." Ione replied.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You meant, how _did_ you do. It's okay, we're only children, we're bound to make mistakes here and there. Anyway, I did very well. Those questions were a bit easy, don't you think?"

"Umm," Harry said, drawing out the syllable for as long as humanly possible. "No?"

"No?"

"Yeah, no to pretty much everything you said."

Ione suddenly stopped walking.

"What precisely do you mean by that?"

"Well," Harry said. "I meant how _do_ you do, as in, 'how have you been?' And I didn't find that test to be particularly easy."

"Oh."

"How did you know any of that stuff?" Harry said, at the same time Ione said, "I'm doing well, thanks. And you?"

It was the start to a beautiful friendship.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Eight: Character Building **

Time flew by. Harry ended up doing horribly on the test, red ink practically dripped from the parchment, but so had Sean Cooper and Hazel Wells. The three swore themselves to secrecy: no one could know; they wouldn't let anyone learn that they were, to quote Professor Earnest, "the stupidest three students Hogwarts has ever seen."

The other classes were both fascinating and boring. The Charms professor was as short as the first years and just as excited about magic as the muggleborns, but they still hadn't cast any spells in his class. Everything seemed to be going well in Potions until Harry and his partner Wilfred Selwyn- age 11, pure-blood- blew up a cauldron. The boys were bickering over whose fault it was when Professor Slughorn- age 67, pure-blood- came up to them and asked what happened. Wilfred immediately started mentioning his "great-aunt Clorynthe, surely you remember her? She has such great things to say about her favorite professor" and how his "good friend Belsby, he was Head Boy a few years back, had mentioned that the Hiccoughing Draught could be bettered by simply adding a few counterclockwise turns", and so the exploding cauldron wasn't really his fault. Nodding along, Slughorn turned to Harry.

"And you, my boy?"

"Uhh, I. I, uh, was in charge of cutting the flobberworms, sir."

Slughorn inspected his work, and his polite smile turned into a grimace.

"Have you ever used a knife? Nevermind, it's obvious where the talent in this duo is."

With a wave of his wand, he Vanished the burnt cauldron and moved on.

Since then, Slughorn didn't even seem to recognize Harry as a person, but Harry didn't consider the human armchair to be much of a person, either.

Sirius had partnered up with Harry for Herbology, which turned the most boring class ("It's okay I can say that. I'm a Hufflepuff") into the funnest. They cast every spell they knew at their Backwards Daisies, which only grow during the night. Professor Sprout- age 40, pureblood- had scolded them and docked points, but that just led to the two boys being more discrete.

Today, Professor Sprout had instructed them to sprinkle Manticore Dung in a circle around the Daisies.

"For the whole class?" Sirius whispered. "I don't think I can make it Harry; I think I'm going to literally die of boredom. Go on without me. Tell my family I died a noble death. On second thought, don't."

"Now," Sprout said, continuing her lecture. "Can anyone tell me why we use Manticore Dung and not the more common Dragon Mud?"

"Flitwick taught us a new spell," Harry whispered.

"Well go on then, try it"

"Rictusempra"

The extremely wilted Backwards Daisy gave out a sad, pitiful, and extremely loud croak.

The other students all looked at Sirius and Harry, while Professor Sprout pretended to ignore them.

"Because it is so much more _fertile._"

Halloween was fun. Someone had charmed the silverware so that if you touched them, your hands turned invisible, and once you let go your hands came back.

In early November, Harry was starting to get overwhelmed by his classes, so he finally took up Ione on her offer to study together in the Library. He had never actually been to the Library as he hadn't really seen the need, but Ione swore by it, saying how she'd "never felt more inspired or spiritually complete" than when she's there. And when he opened the giant doors, he could understand why. Books and more books lined the walls, lined the _ceiling_, and stacks of papers raced to and from an oversized oak desk where a lady, dark hair tightly wound in a bun, managed to stare at all the students at once. She turned her gaze towards Harry, and it was the most frightening thing he had ever seen. Scarier than Paul -age 16, orphan- after the glass on his timepiece has cracked.

An undignified squeak left his mouth as Harry turned around, ready to flee when a soft voiced called out, "Harry! You came!"

Ione grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him deeper into the Library.

"Go ahead, find us a table." She took a comically large tome entitled "The Complete History of the Fungus" out of her rather small bag. " I need to return a few books."

As Ione walked towards the Librarian without an ounce of fear in her step, Harry made his way through the maze of shelves and tomes, when he ran into some other first-years. Five of them were sitting at a table, surrounded by a mess of ink and paper; dozens books with dozens of bookmarks were open.

Well, Harry was always taught that politeness and promptness (and pie) were the two (three) most important parts of life, and so he waved and said, "Hello, I'm-"

Immediately, all five spun around, their attention focused solely on him.

"I know you," a black-haired girl said. "You're the one who has yet to get a single question right in Defense Against the Dark Arts"

"That's... that's true, but Professor Earnest asks _really_ tough-"

"What are you doing here, Hufflepuff?" said a brown-haired boy with a crooked nose and crooked teeth.

"Sorry, we haven't been properly introduced, my name is Harry Waters"

"Get out of our Library, Hufflepuff"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sure, of course. Wait, no, sorry, I can't, I'm meeting a friend, Ione! You probably know her!"

Five identical blank faces stared at him.

"Because she's also a first year."

"And right here."

Harry spun around and was relieved to see Ione right behind him. With one hand on the hip, the other waving "The More Complete History of the Fungus", Ione gestured towards the five students.

"Harry, meet some of my fellow Ravenclaws: Janet, Mary, Archibald, Andros, and John. Janet, Mary, Archibald, Andros, and John, this is my friend Harry."

"Not this again," Janet said (though it could have been Mary; Harry wasn't quite sure who was who). "You know some wizards are much better than others, Ione. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. Sit with us."

She patted the empty chair next to her, but Ione didn't move.

"I think I'll go and study with Harry, thanks," she said coolly.

"You've got to keep friendships in the House." the crooked nose boy said. "Got to keep Ravenclaw academically pure."

"He's my friend."'

"That's not a very smart decision, Ollivander," Janet said. "Unless you start making better choices, you'll be the ugly stain to your family name. You hang around with the likes of Hufflepuff, and you'll end up like him."

Harry started to protest.

"There's nothing wrong about being like me!"

"Come on Harry," Ione said. "Let's sit elsewhere."

And Ione's help helped. He was still pants at Potions, and had yet to correctly answer a question in Defense, but his Charms work and Transfigurations had vastly improved. They met every day, and almost never at the Library. Together, they explored the castle, finding off-the-beaten-path areas to practice spells and read without being disturbed by Ravenclaws. For a while, all was well.

Harry was lost. And this time it wasn't his fault; how was he supposed to know that going up a flight of stairs would bring you down to the dungeons. A poorly lit dungeon at that. The few flickering torches that were floating near the walls barely illuminated the hallways. He was quite certain that this wasn't where Ione had wanted to meet, but a very friendly ghost had pointed Harry in this direction... and then ran off cackling. It was strange, surely, but Harry was in no place to judge what was normal for ghosts. Maybe he had remembered a funny joke?

A voice from the dark spoke. "Over here, quick!"

Harry whipped his head around, looking for the origin of the sound.

"Hurry! Before they come!" And indeed, Harry heard footstep approaching.

Blindly trusting the mysterious voice in the dark, Harry ran towards it and into a pitch-black alcove.

"Hello?" Harry said. "Where are you?"

A high-pitch giggle, followed by some whispered words were all the warning Harry had before he blacked out.

The first thing Harry noticed when he regained consciousness, was that his ankle hurt. The second thing was the incessant noise of chatter. The Hufflepuff quickly learned the reason behind the first: he was hung upside down by a thick rope attaching his ankle to a chandelier. The talking was harder to explain because he was completely alone.

"Where is that coming from? Are there invisible people hiding, don't they know that talking gives them away pretty quickly, unless they can't hear and so assume I can't hear, but I can! I can hear! I can hear them say-"

"Oh." For a brief moment, there was blessed silence

"It's me. I'm the one talking, this is weird it's like my mouth is just moving by itself as if a ghost is pushing my lips back and forth and another, smaller ghost is inside my chest and pushing air out, and by their powers combined they are making me speak this is very uncomfortable I hope someone arrives soon..."

It was quite a while until someone arrived.

Harry's voice was weak and scratchy, and still the magic made him speak.

"-hello I heard something please be a human this time and not a bloody cat they're awful at helping all they do is scratch and scratch and -"

A short figure turned the corner, and a wand was pointed in Harry's face.

"I got you now, Potter!"

"No, I'm not Potter, I'm Harry pleased to meet you, please get me down I don't know how I got up here in the first place, I mean, I know it was magic but I don't -"

"Is this some sort of trick?" the other boy said.

"No, no I swear it isn't, who would I want to trick? How would I even trick someone by being strung up like a lamb, are lambs even strung up? Is that expression corr-"

The greasy-haired boy just watched him ramble with a curious expression on his face.

"You! You're Black's friend!"

"Yes! You know Sirius? That's great that's honestly great I've never been so relieved to be his friend now please let me down this has been an awful day -"

"Oh," Severus Snape -age 11, half-blood- said. "Shut up"

Snape flicked his wand. Searing hot pain erupted around Harry's mouth; it felt like someone was threading fire through his lips.

A little past midnight, a prefect helped Harry down and got rid of the spells ("Babbling Hex and a Lip Locking Curse, you don't see that every day")

The first time Harry woke up and could feel his lips, it was Christmas Morning.

**Chapter Nine: Conversations and Truths**

Harry was the only Hufflepuff in his year to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays.

The Library, with the exception of the exceptionally scary Madam Pince, was empty. That meant no gaggle of Ravenclaws waiting for him. ("Except gaggle is for geese, not ravens.")

He had grand plans to read every book on every jinx, hex, and curse, vowing that he would never be caught unprepared again. In his haste, though, he forgot how dreadfully boring books were. The second time Pince caught him asleep, head nestled between the pages of "Cursor: I Barely Know Her! A Cursory Guide to Curses", she took Harry by the ear and tossed him out of the Library.

Eventually all the students returned to the castle, and lessons started anew. The winter worsened then bettered, the professors gave points and detentions, and one day, Harry left the Transfiguration Classroom slightly on fire. His spell-work was flawless – his beetle turned into a beautiful button- but some other first-years had taken great delight in setting all his stuff on fire. Not even the button was safe. That's why, instead of a yellow and black button, Professor McGonagall saw a charred, slightly deformed lump. She was unimpressed.

He had no desire to go to the Great Hall and possibly catch more on fire, so made his way back to the Common Room. As he thought about how he really needed a system to keep track of which stairs led where, he saw a flash of blonde in the corner of his eye.

"Ione?" Harry thought. "Why is she down here?"

Keen on following the flash, he dashed down the stairs and ran as fast as his short eleven-year-old legs could carry him. Turning a corner, Harry saw a large painting of fruit slightly ajar. He slipped in.

As impressive as the Library was, it had nothing on the Kitchens, because the Kitchen had food. Mounds of it. There were giant platters of bacon and steak, shepherd's pie filled with beef, potatoes, and carrots, roast beef sauced in mushroom and caramelized shallots, and large bowls of beef stew and lentil soup. A little creature with bat ears and spindly arms carried giant casks, precariously stacked on top each other, which smelled of pumpkin and strong tea. Another weaved around a table that held Cornish pasties, fried sausages, poached pears, baked apples, and dried figs, carrying trays of chocolate éclairs, rice pudding, custard tart, and trifle. A large brick stove at the end of the room churned out warm biscuits and apple pies and treacle tart. Enormous wheels of cheese floated in midair, occasionally being sliced by one of the many enchanted knives that flew around the room.

It was something out of Harry's dreams.

Ione was sitting at a table, reading and nibbling on some pastry. Plates of food had been pushed out of the way to make way for her books.

Harry made his way over and sat down next to her. "What are you doing here? Don't feel like having human company?"

Ione gave Harry a light-hearted glare.

"Rough day?" Harry asked. "How are the Ravenclaws treating you?"

"They're all jerks," she said.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. What are you going to do? Convince them to be my friend?"

"Yes."

Ione snorted. Pastry bits flew everywhere.

"That won't work. They don't like you either. I think some of them even hate you."

"Well I could still try."

"And that's very nice of you, but I think we'd be better off if you didn't."

"How did you even find this place?"

"The kitchens? Oh, it was easy, I just followed the elves."

"You just followed the elves?"

"Yeah."

"You were like, 'Hey! Elves! I'm going to follow them!'"

"Well, yes. It's not like I had much else to do."

"You're a Ravenclaw. I thought you Ravenclaws loved your studying?"

"I do! I really do, except where there are books there are Ravenclaws. And since you need books to study, I spend a lot of my time here."

"You can't let them boss you around!"

"I don't! I'd just rather not be with them."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Then why aren't you in the Great Hall now?" Ione asked. "Why aren't you sitting at the Hufflepuff table, only a hex away from Flint and her merry band of Ravenclaws."

"Because I'm not hungry."

Harry's lie wasn't very convincing; he had just finished eating an entire treacle tart.

"You're a Hufflepuff, Harry. You aren't supposed to lie."

"That's not a thing."

"It is! Everyone knows that Hufflepuffs don't lie. They don't cheat, they don't yell, they don't make a mess, they open doors for girls, they always get to class five minutes before it starts, they do poorly on tests so others can win, they.-"

"You're making stuff up!"

"-wake up early on Sundays to wash all the student's laundry."

"Stop!"

"Make me!"

"You're the worst!"

"Don't be like that," she said. "What would you do without me?"

"No clue," Harry said, and suddenly they were both serious. Ione played with the loose threads at the end of her sleeves, twisting them into tiny knots.

"I- I'm leaving," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going home for Easter, and I won't be coming back."

"But why?! That's only a week from now! What about school?"

"It's my father, he- he doesn't. I don't know how to say this."

"Why would your father want you to leave? You're doing amazing! Give me one _good_ reason why you -"

"There's a werewolf in Hogwarts!" Ione practically shouted it.

"What?"

"Promise me you won't tell anyone."

"How can there be a bloody werewolf running around without anyone noticing!"

"Promise me," Ione begged.

"Without Dumbledore noticing!"

"Harry. Promise me you won't tell anyone."

"I promise, I swear I promise."

For a moment, neither could talk.

"Do you really have to leave?" Harry said.

"Father's scared about my safety.

"Why doesn't the werewolf go? Why do you have to?"

"Harry," Ione turned to her friend. "You need to understand something about werewolves."

"What? Are they poor, misunderstood creatures that deserve to strut around school while our best friends are kicked out? Werewolves are monsters, Ione! I know I fall asleep during Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, but I know that much."

"They're monsters once a month. All the other days they're human. The one here is probably barely any older than us. They didn't choose to be bitten; just imagine how horrible it must be for them, how alone they must feel."

"Imagine how alone I'm going to be."

"Harry..."

"I know. But how does your father even know there's a werewolf in Hogwarts?"

"Rumors and whispers, it's his job to know these things."

"Rumors? You're leaving because of a rumor?!"

"My father," Ione said, "is very good at what he does. If my father says that there is a werewolf at Hogwarts and I'm not safe, then I will leave. No one else might know about the werewolf, and Dumbledore might say we are all perfectly safe, but I will do as my father says."

Harry left the kitchens in a sour mood. He had never fought with Ione before. He was a firm believer of Mrs. Tate's teachings of peaceful coexistence. But everyone has their limits. Ione apparently hadn't appreciated her father being called a stuck-up busybody and Harry's cheek was still stinging from her slap.

He wasn't looking where he was going, taking random turns and random stairs, when he walked through someone. It was extremely unpleasant. Turning his head, Harry saw that he passed through a small black-haired man in ridiculous clothes.

"Ooooh, an ickle firstie." the strange man said.

"I'm not ickle," Harry said, thrusting his chin in the air.

"You're smaller than a suit of armor, you know!" The man suddenly vanished and an intense wind rattled one of the suits of armor lining the hall with enough force to topple it over. It narrowly missed Harry.

"Close but no cigar," the man said. Harry heard the voice, but still couldn't see the man himself.

"Where did you go?" Harry spun around, but the hallway was empty. The only sound was the slow drips off a leaky tap in a nearby bathroom. Drip. Drip. He took a tentative step backwards. And another.

Harry's nose was suddenly grabbed, and the man screeched, "GOT YOUR CONK!" Harry was petrified in fear. Before him was a man who could disappear and reappear at will, who was both tangible and intangible, who could possess armor, who could move silently, despite his utterly ridiculous hat that was covered in bells, and who could Lord knows what else. Did this terrifying demon come to Hogwarts to kill them all? Was Harry to be the first victim? Or was the Great Hall littered with corpses, blood smeared on the walls, guts and entrails indistinguishable from the food on the plates?

"I have to inform the teachers!" Harry thought. "Everyone needs to know! Ione! She's alone in the kitchens, I have to –wait."

"I've seen you before," Harry said. "Months ago, in November. I was lost, and you sent me the wrong way."

"I'm only happy to oblige if some tiny firsties ask me to point a student in their direction. I consider it fostering growth in troublesome youths."

"Tell me who-"

"Peeves! Peeves! There you are! James said you were up on the fourth floor, I've been running around all- Oh hey, Harry! I see you've meet Peeves!"

Harry was interrupted by an out-of-breath Sirius.

"Peeves?" Harry said.

"You know, the poltergeist inches from your face."

But Peeves had already zoomed away, cackling insanely.

"He's near impossible to track down," Sirius sighed. "It'll take me ages to find him again. Hey, while I have you, I don't suppose you'd tell me where the Hufflepuff Common Room is?"

"Sorry, I don't think I should."

"It's okay. It'll just make finding it so much more fun. What are you doing around here, anyway? Shouldn't you be in the Great Hall with everyone else?"

"Ione and I got in a fight, and I was distracted, and I got lost. Again."

"Who can get mad at a Hufflepuff? Everyone likes Hufflepuffs. Except some Ravenclaws, I figure."

Harry huffed. "Well it's not like everyone likes you!"

"Nonsense. I'm adorable, how can I not be adored."

"Someone hexed me because I was friends with you!"

"You were hexed?" Sirius was outraged. "Who hexed you?"

"Some Slytherin, Snoop or something."

"Snape? I_ knew_ he was evil."

"Sirius! Anyway, forget about it; it all happened a few months ago"

"A few months ago? Harry, that slimy Slytherin hexed you months ago and you are just telling me now?"

"What were you going to do about it?"

A smile.

"Excuse me, Harry. I have months of mischief to catch up on."


	5. Chapter 5

Gondoline Rowle- age 12, pureblood, Hufflepuff - burst into the Great Hall, running with an oversized bag flung over a shoulder, her fringe damp with perspiration. She unceremoniously plopped down between Harry and Sean, who were having a spirited debate about the efficacy of Cleaning Charms on teeth, and took a moment to collect herself before unleashing today's gossip.

"Harry. Sean. You'll never believe what Hazel saw."

"What?" Sean said.

"Come on, guess."

"She finally saw her reflection and is going to chop off that thing she calls a haircut."

"Guess better."

"Just tell us." Harry said.

"Okay, she saw Professor Earnest."

"No way," Sean teased. "That's amazing."

"Shut up." Gondoline leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. "He was in a broom closet."

"Why was she looking in broom closets?"

"Shut up."

"Gondoline," Harry said. "What was Earnest doing in a broom closet?"

Gondoline smirked. "I think the better question is 'Who was Earnest doing in a broom closet.'"

Harry gasped. Sean just looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

Harry's cheeks reddened in embarrassment and Gondoline wiggled her eyebrows.

Somewhere between Sean calling her "a know-it-all freak" and Gondoline calling him an "ignorant savage," Harry saw a pink-haired boy scurry out the Great Hall. He grabbed his bag, swung his legs the bench, and ran out.

Ahead, the boy was already half way up a moving staircase.

"Snape! Wait up!'"

Snape turned around. Pink hair, slightly smoking at the tips, failed to conceal the complete disinterest that was evident in Snape's eyes.

"What could you possibly want?"

"You cursed me the other day. I mean a few months ago. Back in November. And I was going to just curse you back, but then you'd curse me and then I'd curse you again and it'd go back and forth forever and ever, so I guess what I'm trying to say is: Snape, I challenge you to a duel."

"A duel?" Snape sneered. "Why would I want to duel you?"

"I won't, err, idly sit by while I see injustice being done, and -"

"Are you reading off your hand?"

"No!" Harry immediately shoved his left hand into his front pocket.

"And you hexed me first," Snape said. "On the first day, right when I got off the train."

"That wasn't- I mean, why do you think that was me?"

"Black," Snape said, his voice dripping with disdain, "wouldn't stop gloating about how he got a Hufflepuff to attack a Slytherin."

"See! We obviously need to resolve this. Like adults. Let's put this behind us."

"You honestly think adults duel each others over every slight?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

They both turned as the sound of footsteps approached. Professor Earnest came down the steps two at a time, his cape billowing behind him. With a slight nod of his head, which could have easily been confused with an accidental twitch, Earnest passed by them and continued on to the Great Hall.

Snape broke the silence. "Fine. I'll see you in Forbidden Forest. At midnight."

"How do I know you'll show?"

"How do I know _you'll_ show?"

They glared at each other, and they were so focused on not dropping each other's gaze that they barely noticed that a long-haired girl had angrily pushed her way past them.

"Why midnight?" Harry said. "You'll just tell a professor, and I'll get detention. How about noon?"

"We have Charms."

"Well then right after."

"...Agreed."

Harry was so nervous, he scivved Charms. But that didn't help; the guilt of missing Charms piled onto the fear of losing miserably. Harry desperately wanted dueling advice, but all the other Hufflepuffs were in class, Sirius was nowhere to be found, and he couldn't just look it up in the Library- he was supposed to be in class!

So he walked out, made his way past the Quidditch Pitch, and decided to wait. But waiting was boring. The clouds above weren't making any interesting shapes, and the two-headed squirrel that had kept him company had fled deep into the forest.

Behind him, a branch snapped. Harry whipped his head around, but there was nothing, only trees.

"Snape?" Harry said. "Is that you?"

Harry took out his wand; there was no sense in being unprepared. "Unarmed means Unready" was the Hufflepuff motto, according to Carol anyway. But she also said that the Gryffindor one was "Reckless Abandon", and when Cyprian asked Professor McGonagall what that meant, he got a week's worth of detention.

He took a step into the Forbidden Forest. Snape was probably hiding, trying to catch Harry off guard. But Harry's mind was on high alert, running through all the spells he knew and keeping his eyes peeled for any movement whatsoever. The forest was deafening; the incessant chirping of birds, the leaves and branches rustling against each other, and the sound of running water all blended together into an awful racket.

The sound of running rose above the noise, however, and Harry followed it, sprinting. He jumped over tree roots, ducked under swarms of insects, and every so often shot off sparks. Snape couldn't be very far ahead! Just around the corner! There!

"Lumos!"

Harry conjured a giant ball of light, washing the greens and browns of the forest into a bright white. Ahead, there was a loud crash. Walking forward, though, he saw it wasn't Snape. It was a small deer. The spells Harry had cast had blinded it; the animal ran directly into a tree and was now madly prancing around, as if possessed by a dancing demon. Harry backed away, feelings of guilt brewing in his stomach.

It didn't take Harry long to figure out that he was lost. He climbed trees, hoping to spot the castle, but he never got more than two feet above the ground without falling back down, palms and knees scraped. The wind picked up and branches whacked into him from all angles. Eventually he followed a slow-moving river, hoping that it would feed into the Black Lake. And that is how he found himself in front of a dilapidated house, held aloft by what appeared to be chicken legs.

Rickety steps led up to a half-burned door. The river flowed lazily underneath the elevated hut, continuing on into the distance. But it was getting dark, and Harry doubted that he was anywhere near Hogwarts. He had no intention of sleeping outside where he could be eaten by werewolves or dragons or whatever monstrous creatures lived in the forest.

Walking up the stairs and leaning over a bit, Harry peeked into a window. All he could see inside was a small fire on a large oven; the rest was obscured by the fogged-up glass. Waiting barely a second after softly knocking on the door, he entered. The hut seemed to be only a single room, not that Harry could see much; the only source of light was a partially obscured fire. There wasn't much else: a table with broken plates, a pestle and mortar, a few chairs, a bed in as poor shape as the house itself, and a thick layer of dust over almost everything. The door behind him closed with a soft thud.

He took a step forward and then his eyes finally adjusted to the dark and then he saw her.

She was definitely the ugliest person he had ever seen. Even Sally Henkins- age 11, orphan- whom he had called "the world's ugliest girl" on several occasions, could only hope to compare to the truly frightening thing in front of him. She was all loose skin and dangling limbs. Bald patches freely decorated her hair, and her broken nose drooped below her mouth. ("How does she eat?") Scars and scabs criss-crossed all over her unclothed body. She was lounging over the stove, indifferent to the heat coming from the fire inches below her chest.

"Hello miss," Harry said, having no idea what to do.

"What could have convinced you that coming here was a good idea?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Did your friends _dare_ you to knock on my door, to see if you had the courage?"

"No.. I'm, I'm lost."

Harry immediately realized that he perhaps shouldn't have said that.

"I mean, me and my friends were just outside and I turned my back for just a moment and they hid, so I thought they had come in here, but I see now that they haven't so I'll just be leaving."

"You lie, boy. You're the only human I smell."

She smiled, and Harry thought that she had kind of a pretty smile, until he noticed that she didn't have any teeth. ("How does she eat?")

"Are you hungry, child? I know I am." She taps the fire, her hand breaking into blisters as it passed through the flame. Harry took a small step back towards the door, and she laughed, a light, delicate, almost normal laugh.

"Yes, I'm very hungry, but there's not much here to eat."

Harry gulped.

"Only you."

Harry spun around and yanked the door knob and was ready to run as fast as he could away from her and her face and her hut and her child-eating ways until they were all far, far away. But the door wouldn't budge.

"Don't run," she said in a kind voice. "Come here.

Harry looked around the room, wildly looking for something, anything that could save him.

"There's no way out of the house, trust me."

But Harry wasn't finished trying; he grabbed the large pestle that was lying on a table and threw it at the window..

"That won't work."

And it didn't; it just bounced off. She slowly got off the stove and grabbed a nearby knife.

"I. Said. Come. Here.".

Harry took the first thing that was in reach, a mortar, and slammed it into the window.

"Foolish boy. Going into the scary outdoors without even a wand."

His wand! Harry reached into the folds of his robe just as she charged, moving at an inhuman speed.

"Relashio!"

There was a loud snap and the woman was flung to the back of the house. Relief flooded through Harry- the woman was crumpled in a corner, a pile of flesh and dirt almost indistinguishable from the rest of the hut- but it was soon replaced by despair. His wand had snapped. She must have gotten closer than he thought; indeed, there were scratch marks along his forearm.

Harry took the two pieces of wood in one hand, pointed it at the window and shouted "Relashio!"

The woman let out a pained laugh as nothing happened.

"We are trapped," she said. "Like animals."

Desperate, he banged against the window, punching the glass, fingers wrapped around the broken fragments of his wand, reciting every spell that he could possible remember.

"Relashio." She took a step forward.

"Flagicula." And another step. She was making remarkably slow progress, favoring her right side.

"Rictusempra." Another. Her thin, bony legs buckled, but she kept advancing

"Wingardium Leviosa." Harry's hands were sore and bleeding, but he kept going.

"Avis."

A crack appeared. The woman, now no more than a yard away, was just as shocked as Harry. They both stared at it, hope and fear etched on both their faces. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the interior. Harry was the first to recover.

"Avis. Avis. Avis. Avis." With renewed determination he punched the window, throwing his entire weight behind him, and the crack grew.

The woman shrieked and lunged at him, tripping over herself but still planting the knife firmly in Harry's calf. Harry screamed in pain as he gave one last, futile shove against the window before collapsing to the ground, his legs no longer able to support him.

Tears rolling down his face, blood coating his forearms and right leg, Harry muttered "avisavisavis" over and over as the woman just laughed. She slowly got up and stood over the boy, a feral grin on her ugly face.

"Now, where were we?'

And then birds exploded from Harry. Small, ordinary, wonderful birds swarmed around her, attacking her with their beaks and claws.

"Avis" Harry said, and more appeared.

"Avis." And more.

"Avis." And more.

Sparrows and finches and robins and every bird Harry could imagine ruthlessly attacked the woman, leaving no part of her unscratched. She screamed in pain as an eagle plucked out one of her eyes, and then there was a blinding flash of light.

Where there once was a vortex of talon and claw, there now stood a solitary bird.

It was a magnificent bird, each of its long feathers were a thing of beauty and light. And this only horrified the woman ever more.

"Stay away fire bird!" she shrieked.

The bird cocked its head and flew to Harry. It landed on his lap and with a flash of flame they were gone, leaving behind only a few feathers in a pool of blood.

Harry was shattered into a thousand pieces and boiled and stitched back together miles away, and it was fantastic. For a brief moment, he was a hero in one of the stories that Mrs. Tate would tell. He was whole and flawless, and the part of him, the part of his _soul, _that he never knew was missing finally came back. But reality kicked in all too soon. There was a knife lodged in his leg. His fingers had lost all their color; white, bordering on blue. He was drenched in blood, his wand was snapped and he was, with the exception of a bird, alone on top of the Astronomy Tower , if the heat-warped telescopes were anything to go by.

With a swift yank, Harry pulled out the knife. It was a mistake. Unimaginable pain coursed through him and blood started seeping out. Dirt and tears mixed together on his brow and stung his eyes.

"Merlin's bloody tit. What do I do? What do I do? Do i put it back in? No, that's stupid. Right?"

The bird hopped over to a half-mad Harry and dropped a tear onto Harry's leg.

"What are you even doing? I don't think crying is going to help – what? How?"

The gash quickly closed back up and the bird shed another tear on Harry's hands and the torn skin knitted itself back together just like the leg had.

With a flash of burning light, the bird disappeared. And Harry was alone with his uninjured body and unrelenting pain.

Harry woke up the next morning in his bed. He was just as sweat-covered and tear-covered and blood-covered as the was the night before. His palms and knees were blistered from crawling down to the Hufflepuff Common Room, his legs too weak to carry him.

It was the last day of class. The children were restless and the adults were tired. But Filius Flitwick never strived to be the typical adult. With miraculous exuberance, Flitwick taught his last class, first-year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, a spell from the second year curriculum.

Harry was paired with Dominic Mendel- age 12, half-blood, Hufflepuff. Dominic made it extremely clear that Harry wasn't going to be using him as a test dummy ("Point that broken stick at me one more time and you'll regret it. I know where you sleep, Harry.")

The professor approached the duo.

Dominic turned to Harry, muttered the words and flicked his wand. Bright, bright orange shot out and hit Harry square in the chest. Two different sets of eyes looked at Harry expectantly. Harry just stared back. "I don't think it worked."

Flitwick turned to Harry and said, "How about you, my boy? Give it a good try on Mr. Mendel here."

"Sorry, professor," Harry said. "I'm afraid mine's not any better."

Dominic let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Well, that's normal," Flitwick said. "You need to really understand the spell to cast it properly. Don't be afraid to read the text a few more times."

Harry just nodded, shoving aside the memories of talking to empty air for hours, gasping for breaths whenever the spell's effects waned, and reciting almost-forgotten prayers when it re-strengthened. Flitwick moved on to the other students, and by the end of the lesson, no one else had successfully cast the Babbling Hex.

"Don't fret! It is, after all, a spell for second years. Why, this year only one first-year was able to cast it. Quite competently too, she got it on the first try!"

"Who was it?" someone asked, and Harry for the first time was giving a professor his full attention.

"A Gryffindor. Lily Evans."


End file.
